


Helping hands

by Lemon_drop_lantana



Category: Compilation of Final Fantasy VII
Genre: 5 + 1 ish, Anal Sex, Caretaking, Explicit Sexual Content, M/M, Undressing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-03
Updated: 2020-12-03
Packaged: 2021-03-09 18:53:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,506
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27851170
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lemon_drop_lantana/pseuds/Lemon_drop_lantana
Summary: Reno and Rude, undressing each other.
Relationships: Reno/Rude (Compilation of FFVII)
Comments: 14
Kudos: 68





	Helping hands

**1\. Shirt**

We hadn’t been working together for long. I hadn’t even seen his eyes and yet here he was, unbuttoning my shirt. It was so confusing and I kept trying to draw breath to get out the question. _What are you doing, Rude?_

But I couldn’t. He was talking to me though. Words pouring out and dripping past my ears onto the cement as he leaned over me. I couldn’t catch any of them. I could feel them collecting and pooling underneath my body. They were so hot and I was so cold. But Rude’s hands on my chest, pressing hard over my ribs were warm and very heavy.

That’s all I remember from that day. Wet words and warm hands and Rude undoing the buttons on my shirt when it would have been faster to just rip it off.

When I woke up in the hospital he looked guilty. Even behind the shades. I told him right away it was my fault. I’m sure it was, although I don’t remember what happened for shit. Nothing really, other than Rude’s fingers on my neck and the shape of Rude’s mouth when he said my name.

I wanted to lighten the mood so I told him, “The next time you take off my goddamn shirt I hope I’m not bleeding out.” Mighta been the first time I saw his lips twitch. For Rude, that's a smile.

**2\. Tie**

It was that same year. I walked into the office and Veld took one look at me and said, “Rude, take care of it.”

I didn’t think it looked too bad, honestly. The fourth attempt was definitely my best. I did it exactly like it said in the video. But Rude looked up from his desk and gave me a smirk. He took me by the shoulders and pushed me to sit down on my desk.

He was so close as he stripped the tie off me it felt like there was no safe place to look. I tried to look down at his hands but I guess I was getting in the way because he knocked my chin up with two fingers. So then I looked up at the corner of the ceiling.

It made me shiver as he pulled it out of my collar—snaking around the back of my neck and dragging over my chest. I thought... _I’d wear a tie every day if I could feel Rude pull it off like that._ And then I stopped that train of thought right there.

He popped my collar up and put it right back on. Flipping and looping and tying it better than I was able to, apparently. I guess you get good at it when you’re a boring stiff who wears a tie for work every day.

Then he pulled the knot tight and turned down the collar. Starting at the back and letting his thumbs trace along my neck.

He never said a single word.

I only had three minutes before we all had to file in for that meeting with the president, but it was plenty of time to jerk off in the bathroom. I came so fast it was pathetic.

**3\. Shoes**

It was later. Months or years—I don’t know how much later. Who bothers to keep track of these things? Later enough that I’d seen Rude’s eyes. Later enough that I knew the set of his jaw when he killed someone he didn’t really want to kill.

I was drunk. I was drunk and I was trying to get drunker. It was still that point in the night where more seems better. More seems like a good excuse to do something stupid.

Rude always made me want to do something stupid. Bad attribute for a partner, probably.

I don’t know if he was drunk too, but I remember that he was the one standing up straight and I was the one hanging onto his arm like I couldn’t walk on my own. (I could). He was the one picking the direction and I was the one secretly feeling the curve of his bicep through his suit.

Anyway, he got me home. Pushed me into the bed. But not the good way. More like he was trying to keep me from grabbing the bottle of whiskey out of the kitchen cabinet.

He told me to go to sleep and I whined at him a bit. Tried to sit back up but he put his hand right over my face and pushed me back into the pillow. Casually. Like I was a kid or something.

He sat on the edge of my bed said he’d tell me a story and I scoffed. 

"What am I? Six years old?” 

But I laid still and shut up anyway because Rude doesn’t talk that much and I like hearing his voice. I mean, I was curious what he was gonna say.

I swear that motherfucker told me a fairy tale. I can’t remember it clearly since I was drunk and all, but I remember that there was a princess with red hair and a knight with dark skin and I tried to kick him at that point but he caught my foot and laughed like the sound of thunder through the plate and took my shoes off.

Rude had little sisters, apparently, but I ain’t one of them. I was trying to tell him that when he told me to shut up and started rubbing my feet.

I’m sure they didn’t smell good but he didn’t say anything about it. Just pressed his thumbs into the arch of my foot and kept telling some story that I couldn’t even listen to because the feeling of his knuckles digging into my heel was too loud.

Lemme tell you something. Rude’s hand strength is unreal. I didn’t even want to go to sleep, it felt so good. His voice and his hands. But I was out so quickly I didn’t even make it to the part where the knight fucked the princess.

I assume he did.

**4\. Gloves**

This one was me. Me doing the undressing. Me taking care of Rude. Not our usual setup.

I think Rude wasn’t sure I had it in me. The look he gave me as he laid both hands on the table wasn’t the picture of confidence.

I could tell it hurt. Hands _hurt_ and his were cut to shit. The knuckles and backs of his hands from punching through the glass. The palms and fingers from pulling out all the sharp pieces left in the bottom and the sides so he could lay his chest down flat on the ground and reach into the basement to grab my hands.

I mighta teased him for not taking the time to wrap his hand in his jacket except I saw his eyes that night and he saw mine and none of it was funny. There was so much fire in that room I could barely step back far enough not to be showered in glass. And once he broke through, the smoke billowed out like it was a chimney and the flames licked higher and he damn near pulled my arms out of their sockets yanking me out through that tiny window.

I don’t think Rude coulda fit if it were him locked in that basement. And I dunno if I’m strong enough to have pulled him out either. But I don’t wanna think about that.

His hands. His hands were all fucked up and it felt weirdly like an opportunity. A chance to show him that I can take care of someone too. So I got out my scissors and tweezers and rubbing alcohol. So I poured him a whiskey and held it to his lips. So I set a bright lamp on the table and got to work.

Honestly, I felt a little shaky myself after nearly gettin' burnt up. Felt shaky about touching him. I usually didn't. It made me nervous. But the minute I set to it, I was smooth as silk. I have good hands for that kinda work. I cut those shredded, sticky gloves off and I swear he didn’t feel a thing.

I think he felt better when he saw how careful I was being. I held each of his bloody hands in my own and pulled out every last sliver of glass. The ones in the darker backs of his hands and the ones in his lighter palms. He didn’t even flinch. Not a whimper. That’s how gentle I was. Just like he is with me. I thought he’d close his eyes but he watched the whole time so I stopped looking back up at him. It took an hour.

When he was all cleaned up I took his bracer myself and cured him. Watched all those red slashes turn into silver lines that faded into dark and light skin. Rude’s better with cures than I am, but I wanted to finish the job. And it was one more chance to touch his bare hands.

**5\. Hair**

Let me tell you how much this pissed me off. 

It’s a good thing I don’t know who did it because I would have gutted them from neck to crotch and pulled out all of their organs from least important to most and set them out in a line. It woulda been real slow Rude would have been pissed because he was tired and just wanted to get home.

Someone threw gum in my hair.

It was morning and we had been out all night trailing some supposed crime boss who didn’t do a single interesting thing. We hadn’t even gotten in a fight. It had been boring. Boring all night until the sun came up and we finally got to hand that duty to some other poor saps.

And we were walking back to the car down a narrow street with crappy multi-story tenement housing rising tall on either side. Something hit the back of my head and I thought I’d been shot until I felt it. Sticky and disgusting. Pink and stringy on my fingers.

I looked up and couldn’t see anything. There were at least twenty open windows above me. I nearly charged in and started kicking down doors. Nearly set the building on fire—one lightning spell woulda done it.

But Rude put his hand on my shoulder and shook his head and said, “I’ll fix it.”

He took me back to his place and wouldn’t even let me look in the mirror. I could tell it was getting worse. More tangled. Gross. He threw a pillow in the middle of the couch and a towel over the pillow and had me lay down on it with my legs hanging over the armrest.

He grabbed a comb (I don’t even know why Rude owns a comb) and all sorts of shit out of his kitchen. I wanted to ask questions like _What the fuck is the peanut butter for?_ and _Why do you know how to do this?_ but he pulled the ponytail holder out of my hair so gently that my eyes closed and head felt heavy on the pillow.

I don’t know what all he did but I know that it didn’t hurt. Somehow he got all that gum out of my hair without pulling it once. It felt like he stroked my head and combed my hair for hours and you probably know just how good that feels.

It was afternoon when I woke up, still laying on Rude’s couch. My hair felt slick and slimy and it smelled like god knows what. Vinegar or something. But there wasn’t any gum in it. If he had to cut it, I couldn’t tell.

Rude was passed out on his bed. Glasses on his nightstand. It was weird to see his curly eyelashes. I didn’t know that his eyelids had freckles too. And of course, I wanted to crawl into that bed with him.

I wanted to.

I wanted to say _Let me._

I wanted to say _Let me just touch._

But Rude was asleep and I kinda stank and it wasn’t like that.

So I went home instead and took a shower. My hair was very shiny for a week after that.

**6\. Jacket, tie, shirt, belt, pants, shoes, socks, briefs**

Guess you know where we’re going here.

It took me too long to get there. Years. _Years._

“I think you’ll need help.” That’s how it started. Rude was beat up. Broken arm. Broken collarbone. It was all healed, of course, but he was looking creaky and I took the excuse.

“I think you’ll need help,” I said and walked into his apartment like I belonged there. I don’t like it when Rude gets hurt. Makes me anxious and clingy. I’d been waiting all day (for years) for him to touch me and he hadn’t and I was tired of waiting.

I walked into his bedroom hoping he would follow me and not ask questions. And he did. He stood there and looked at me, shades still on, and I wondered if he knew where I was going with this.

He stood there and I pushed his jacket back over his shoulders and let it slide down his arms. I hung it up in the closet like he always did, so it wouldn’t wrinkle.

Then I worked on his tie. I didn’t look up at his face because I didn’t want to see it. I was sure he was about to tell me to stop. To go home. But he didn’t so I undid the knot and pulled it out of his collar slowly, letting it snake around his neck and down his chest. I threw it on a chair.

Rude was silent and I didn’t look at him. I started on his shirt. Slipped two fingers into his collar to undo the top button and that was the first time I ever touched his neck. He was so warm. I watched his chest rise and fall with steady, deep breaths as I undid all the buttons down to his belt buckle. I tried not to breathe harder than him.

Every parted button revealed brown skin that contrasted with his bright, white shirt. I don’t know why that would surprise me, but it did. Then I pulled his shirttails out of his pants and finished the last of 'em. Took his hands and peeled off each black glove and undid each cufflink and set them all on the dresser.

And then I was nervous as fuck. I stepped behind him so I wouldn’t see his face or his chest. Grabbed that stiff, white collar and slid the shirt off his shoulders.

My knuckles grazed the backs of his arms and he sighed.

Rude sighed and I couldn’t tell if it was irritation or regret or want so I stayed behind him where it felt safe. Staring at the muscles of his back where he couldn’t see me.

Then he turned around, of course. Threw his shades on the dresser and caught me with his eyes before I could make myself busy with something else. It was either look at his chest or look at his face so I picked his face. His raised eyebrows seemed to say _Well? What are you gonna do?_

 _Well._ I undid his belt buckle. I couldn’t believe he didn’t stop me. I could feel his eyes burning on my skin and I didn’t look back up. I undid the button and zipper of his pants, careful not to press close. Not to touch anything. Not yet.

The belt was heavy so when I let go, his pants fell to the floor and I dropped down with them, straight to my knees. And then he finally made a sound. It was quiet and short in his throat, but that’s a lot from Rude. I knew what it sounded like, but I couldn't trust myself.

I lifted each leg to slip his pants off. Pulled off his socks while I was down there and squeezed around his heels. And then there was nothing left to do. So I raised my head an inch—just enough to look.

Tight black boxer briefs. That’s all that was left. He hadn't stopped me and I wanted to _know._ So I leaned forward and pressed my face to that space right between his hip and his dick. The fabric was soft on my cheek and I could feel how warm he was.

I nuzzled him like a dog. He smelled so good and his cock was hard and let me tell you what a phenomenal relief that was.

I’ve never wanted a cock so bad in my life.

I sat there with my forehead pressed against his hip bone, breathing on his crotch and trying to drum up the courage to take the next step. Rude was still and quiet like always and I swear there’s no one on earth harder to read. Even after years, I couldn’t tell. Didn’t know if he wanted me or how he wanted me or why he wanted me.

I startled at his voice.

“I think I’ll need help.”

So deep and rumbly and understated. And fucking teasing me. I laughed against his skin. Took a deep breath and pulled off those briefs. Rude’s cock was gorgeous and uncut and a real mouthful. He finally made an actual sound—a groan—when I slipped my tongue under his foreskin and I'm sure it made my bones vibrate. Felt even better when he combed his fingers into my hair.

My mouth was so wet I had to wipe the drool off my chin. I tried to taste every inch of him and every bit tasted good. I had only just really gotten started in earnest when he grabbed me by the collar and hauled me back up to my feet.

I didn’t know what he was doing and I was afraid he was backing out but he held me close by my shirt and looked at me.

“I don’t wanna cum in your mouth,” he said.

“Okay,” I whispered back.

“I wanna put you in my bed and fuck you.” _This is when my brain started glitching._ “Wanna cum inside you.”

And I just about died. I think my eyes rolled back in my head. I’d only been wanting him to fuck me since the first time he unbuttoned my shirt and put his hands on my chest to keep the blood in.

I managed to mumble something back that sounded like an agreement but everything had stopped working. He kissed me and my mouth felt slow and clumsy. He stripped off my clothes fast but I couldn’t help because my hands were shaking. He pushed me onto the bed (the good way) and took over and it was such a relief because all I wanted to do was take and take and take.

Rude kept talking (it was shocking) and my brain was moving so slowly I was never able to say anything back.

 _You feel so good._ Three knuckles deep and I promise you, he felt better.

 _Wanna feel you cum on my cock._ Yeah. I was on board with that.

 _You gonna whimper like that when I fuck you?_ Yes. The answer was yes.

I never replied. Just kept whimpering until he pulled his fingers out of me and turned me onto my knees. I don’t know how it happened that he was so cool about it and I was freaking out, but that’s how it was.

He was good. Thick enough to make me ache. Clever enough to get the angle exactly right. I could see his big hands wrapped around my hips, and I hoped he’d leave bruises (he did). Rude knows when to stop being gentle and he fucked me into the bed so long and so hard that I finally found enough words to beg him to touch me. I wanted his hands to take care of me like always. It only took three strokes before I came over his fingers.

He took longer. He slowed down while I shook and gasped and arched on his cock and stuck with the slower pace. I was sensitive but it felt like he was _enjoying_ me and that was good all on its own. He stroked up and down my spine and then wrapped an arm around my ribs and I could feel all the muscles in his chest against my back. He said my name when he came and it almost made me hard again.

It was good. It was more than good. But all I could think about, when he pulled me onto my side and curled up around me, was that I didn’t get to watch him. Even though I know what his mouth looks like saying my name, I wanted to see it again.

I will, next time.


End file.
